In the course of paging through this month’s Previews, I found myself wondering, “Man, how many times does this guy have to save comics?”

No, I’m not talking about Brian Hibbs.  (See, cuz in that case I already know the answer:  Hibbs has a coupon he can redeem to save comics no more than five times.  Apparently, these coupons were a big hand-out back at one of the ‘90s San Diego Cons, but everyone’s afraid to use them, cuz the coupons are only valuable in mint condition.)  No, I am once again discussing the Mr. Alan Moore.  Now, I’m as big a fan as anyone of men who’ve lived for an entire half-century and yet still don’t trust shirts with sleeves, but this is getting pretty ridiculous.  First, Moore comes forth in the ‘80s, churning out seminal works and being one of the five creators from that era who pioneered the graphic novel format as we know it.  Then, in the ‘90s, he helps create the retro superhero genre, launches an entire comic book line, and with From Hell takes the graphic novel—if I may use a phrase favored by celebrities, telemarketers, and personal trainers—to the next level.  Now, in the ‘00s, we find him again doing his part to aid the flagging comic industry, although this time not by invigorating the market with the creative sweat from his literary brow.  This time, Mr. Moore is being marketed like an object of cult-like veneration, a bare-armed incarnation of a golden calf.

It’s odd enough, albeit acceptable, that I can put down my copy of Alan Moore: Portrait of an Extraordinary Gentleman so I can pick up my copy of Alan Moore’s Writing for Comics while listening to Alan Moore and David J’s Moon and Serpent Grand Egyptian Theater of Marvels.  More marginal, and yet still acceptable, I guess, are projects like The Courtyard and Another Suburban Romance that are comics not by Alan Moore but adaptations of stories, poetry and catchy political slogans written by Moore for another medium.  No, it’s all this merchandise currently being solicited through Previews to comic stores across the country that’s getting to me.  I know Brian is not a big fan of ordering swag, nor do we list it in the New Comics section, so I thought I’d quickly run you through some of the items being offered, be they for tribute or for a quick buck, regarding the mighty man of Northampton.

Miracleman Alan Moore Arc Pack:  From New Dimension Comics, this is a package of issues #3, #4, #5, and #8 of the original Miracleman issues and comes with a promotional Eclipse promotional postcard.  Although I’ve heard rumors that this pack was personally circulated as part of cat yronwode’s huked on fonickes program, I have yet to receive any actual confirmation of this.  This package of four comics?  A nickel shy of thirty bucks.  Hmmm, yeah, this can’t really be filed in the tribute pile, I think. 

Alan Moore Lithograph:  This is a lithograph of Alan Moore, photographed by José Villarrubia, distributed through Top Shelf and…well, I just have to quote from the newsletter from Chris Oarr of Top Shelf to give you an idea of it:  “Top Shelf is thrilled to offer this 13” by 17” official portrait of Mr. Moore, photographed in his home town of Northampton.  Alan stands serene and alert, like a wizened mage, or an author whose graphic novel keeps a struggling comix distributor afloat.  We have spared no expense in creating a truly ‘top shelf’ lithograph, printed on the same heavyweight paper used for movie posters, and digitally mastered by Mr. Villarrubia himself.  In addition, this lithograph glows in the dark, and Alan’s eyes seem to look at you no matter where in the room you might stand.  Rubbing this lithograph against afflicted parts of your body will heal them, and those who choose to deliver children on this lithograph will find the woman’s labor to be brief and painless, and the newborns silver-eyed and intelligent.  If you wrap old non-Alan Moore comics in this lithograph, they will come out both less wrinkled and possessing better characterization and dialogue (DC and Image comics only).  Cheese placed under this lithograph will never molder, nor will the cider yet go sour.  You will also be able to see forward in time, fly through the air and untie any knot, although these abilities are only granted through the signed copies…”  Cost?  Twenty bucks unsigned, forty bucks with the powers of divination, flying and stuff.  A little too firmly in the tribute pile, if you ask me.

Alan Moore’s ‘Highlights for Children,’ and by ‘Highlights,’ We Mean ‘Twilight’ and by ‘for Children,’ We Mean ‘of the Superheroes’”:  Yes, some clever person has taken the well-circulated copy of Alan Moore’s Twilight of the Superheroes proposal, published it to resemble an issue of Highlights for Children and done a search and replace of the character names (renaming ‘Batman’ as ‘Namtab’, for example) to avoid trademark concerns and then publishing the result.  Although reports have surfaced of fanboys giving themselves temporary dyslexia reading it all in one sitting, this still seems like a decent illicit thrill, particularly with Highlights-style hidden pictures and cartoons adapted to the storyline (“…while Goofus engages in bondage with shape-changing Martian prostitutes.”).  Cost?  Two hundred dollars a piece (“limited to 300, unless I can get more suck…er, that is to say, customers”) from Jill de Ray Publishers.

Alan Moore Dollgures:  A Dollgure, I believe, is a cross between a figure and a doll, just as a Muppet is, I guess,  a cross between a puppet and a mop.  This Japanese import features “soft skin” covering, fully removable cloth clothes and, according to the pictures, a fine and full set of breasts.  Whether this is some vast misunderstanding about Mr. Moore’s gender, a secret only the Japanese are currently privy to, or simply a new fetish ready to come into its own as a Pan-Pacific collector’s trend, we probably won’t know for sure until the Grant Morrison Dollgure is released.  $17.99 for the figure, $24.99 for the figure with sleeves.

Alan Moore’s Letters to Penthouse Forum, Vols. I-IV:  Don’t be fooled.  These four volumes from Blood Money Press, enclosed in a lovely slipcase, actually detail only one letter, despite the title.  Running a total of two hundred pages per volume, this letter comprises a sexual encounter between Alan Moore, two women, and a coatrack in West End.  Volume I, for example, is a complete psycho-geographical and mythico-historical study of West End where the encounter happened, and apparently the digression on the evolution of coatracks (in Volume III) is a red-hot page-turner.  There’s also an extensive endnotes section by the editors, contrasting, say, the original opening to the letter (“Dear Penthouse Forum:  I recently ejaculated upon the face of History, allowing the orgasmic unfettering of shackled feminine mystery, and in many ways not only is Superman to blame, but Beano and a lecherously inclined coatrack as well.”) with one revised with an eye to publication  (“Dear Penthouse Forum:  I’ve always been a big fan of your letters but thought they were more than likely made up.  However, something just happened to me that I just had to write to you about, and besides what is all of human history but a mutually agreed fictional construct, anyway?  If it gets me and a very naughty coatrack a bit of action, who’s to say the world’s worse for it?”).  No illustrations, but unless you’re as much a furniture fancier as Mr. Moore, that may be for the best.  Four books in slipcase, five hundred dollars for all.  Yikes.

Alan Moore Bank and Alarm Clock:  This strikes me as pretty clever:  you put a coin in Alan’s back, and he types at the typewriter he’s sitting at, saying, “Right, then.  Time to save comics!”  You can also turn on an hourly chime where he says eight different phrases (“Two O’Clock: here comes another issue of League of Extraordinary Gentlemen—in six months!”).  This lovely piece of work is sixty bucks, and not available in Germany, perhaps because of its strained trade relations with Prague.

‘Talking’ Moore Hands:  Apparently, there are two versions of these items.  There’s the original:  cheap knock-offs of the Talking Hulk Hands, recolored a pasty Northampton white with a slightly modified sound chip.  When you bang the hands against anything, there’s loud crashing noises, growling and the occasional “Arrrgh!  Moore smash hopes for 1963 being completed!  Grrr!”  The second set are two lanky foam (sleeveless ) arms that fit over yours that say things like: “The middle eighties was when comic books finally got laid.  Media attention. Frank Miller in Rolling Stone, MTV, Maus cops the Pulitzer. Watchmen on University readings lists. The style and music press raving about Love & Rockets…We got everything we ever asked for, just as one often finds in real life or the better fairy stories, and just like in real life or the better fairy stories it turned out to be shit.  For a few years there, everything we touched turned to gold, and now what the fuck are we going to do with all this gold?  All this shit?  With honest and sincere effort, we made comics what we wanted them to be: as popular as any other 20th-century medium.  What on earth were we thinking?” In order to get your Talking Moore Hands to say things like this you must bang them on something solid, such as a wall, or a bookshelf, or the collapsing sides of an ever-diminishing cage, and the price, I’m afraid to say, will likely not be known for another few years.